


Three Non-Blondes

by profdanglais



Series: Secret Things [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Matchmaking, Matchmaking Fail, Secret Relationship, best friend's sister trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-01-07 10:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18408332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Mary Margaret is certain that her fiancé's sister Emma and his best friend Killian are perfect for each other. What she doesn't know is that they think so too. Matchmaking hijinks ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a bit of distraction from reality and the result is this bit of silliness. Dedicated to @katie-dub, because she is amazing and deserves all the nice things. I hope it makes you smile.

David turned away from the bar and moved carefully back to the booth where his friends were waiting, balancing the three beers in his hands with an expertise born of long experience. He set them on the table with a flourish. “Not a drop spilled,” he said proudly. 

“Well done, mate,” said Robin, picking up one of the glasses and raising it in tribute. David’s grin flashed brightly then dimmed as he noticed that someone was missing.

“Where’s Jones?”

Robin inclined his head towards the far corner of the room. Ah, thought David, following his friend’s gaze. Of course. Killian was standing with one hip against the vintage jukebox that was their neighbourhood pub’s pride and joy, leaning into the space of a willowy brunette, a wicked grin creasing his face as he whispered something in her ear. “Well, that’s him out for the night,” said David, sliding into the booth. “At least we get to drink his beer.”

“Every cloud,” grinned Robin, and they clinked their glasses together in toast.

A minute later their dastardly plans for Killian’s beer were foiled when the man himself appeared in the booth.

“Ah, is that for me? Excellent.” Killian picked up the glass and downed half of it before his friends could speak.

“What are you doing back here, mate?” asked Robin, “It looked like you were in there.”

“Hmmm?” Killian looked distracted, then seemed to remember. “Oh, right. Couldn’t be bothered.”

“Couldn’t be bothered?” repeated Robin in disbelief. He glanced at the brunette who was now sitting at the bar, arms crossed beneath a generous bosom, soft lips pouting, stunningly beautiful and clearly insulted. “She looks worth a bit of bother to me.”

“Well, you’re welcome to have a go,” smirked Killian, laughing as Robin blanched.

“I have my own brunette at home, thank you very much,” he said. _And even the idea of cheating on her terrifies me_ , he very carefully didn’t say.

“So do I,” piped up David. “You know, you might consider keeping one around for a while, Killian. They’re a nice thing to come home to.”

“Thanks for your concern, mates, but I prefer to remain free of any romantic entanglements, brunette or otherwise,” said Killian firmly. “That one had marriage-y eyes.” He gave an elaborate shudder. “Not worth it.”

“‘Marriage-y eyes’?” repeated David. “Really?”

“Yes, really, _Dave_ , and you know exactly what I mean by the expression. Mary Margaret has the worst case of marriage-y eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe that’s because we’re _about to get married_.”

“Aye, the only appropriate time to have them. And I’m sure we can all agree that two minutes into a conversation with a stranger who’s just trying to put a song on the jukebox is _not_ an appropriate time to be very obviously choosing the place settings in one’s head, hmm?”

David and Robin had to agree that ‘marriage-y eyes’ in those circumstances seemed a bit premature.

“There we are then,” said Killian, returning his attention to his beer.

The men drank in silence for a moment.

“Although, now I think about it, you haven’t picked anyone up in a long time,” said David.

“Apropos of nothing,” Robin teased.

Killian heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Why this sudden lurid interest in my sex life, lads, are you not getting enough at home?” he taunted. “Need to live vicariously through my exploits?”

“Not at all,” said David.

“Quite the contrary,” said Robin.

“We’re just worried _you’re_ not getting enough,” said David, with a grin that would have been pure evil on a less wholesome face.

“Your solicitude is touching,” said Killian drily, “But I assure you I am not suffering for lack of female company or attention, even without a brunette waiting at home. Now can we talk about something else, please?”

David frowned. He knew Killian well enough to spot when he was lying, and he wasn’t. So where was he getting all this female company and attention? Certainly not from the bar, not for weeks. Months even. His frown deepened as he tried to remember the last time he’d seen Killian go home with a woman.

Just then the door of the pub opened and a wide grin spread across Killian’s face. David turned to see what he was grinning at and felt his own face split in a delighted smile.

“Looks like they weren’t content to wait at home after all,” Killian teased. “Modern women, eh?” He stood to allow Mary Margaret to slide into the booth next to David as Regina took the seat next to Robin and immediately began making out with him.

“She’s had a lot to drink,” said Mary Margaret, by way of explanation.

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I do need a brunette,” he muttered. 

“Highly recommended,” said David as he kissed his fiancée. “Where’s Emma?” he asked her. “I thought she was with you tonight?”

“She was. She said something about third wheels, or fifth ones, and went home about half an hour ago.” Killian’s eyes widened with what looked like alarm and he grabbed his phone to check the time. Mary Margaret didn’t notice. “But she’ll see us at your mom’s tomorrow,” she informed David.

“Well,” said Killian, draining the last of his beer. “I need to be off myself. Goodnight, lovers.”

“What, you’re going already? But it’s so early!” David protested.

“Yeah, come on Killian, I’ve hardly seen you these past few months,” said Mary Margaret.

“Ah, yes, well, as much as I hate to agree with the lovely Swan, I also do not relish being the third wheel, or even the fifth one,” said Killian, glancing at his phone again. “And I have, uh, an early morning.”

“You work from home, you can set your own hours.”

“I have a deadline. Sorry, lads, I have to go.” His hand flexed on his phone and his body language was tense.

“Well, all right,” said David, wondering what the heck could be going on with his friend, and if Killian might be persuaded to talk about it. For a man so skilled with words he didn’t talk a lot about himself. “But you’re coming to my mom’s for dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Ah,” Killian had been easing towards the door but now he turned back and shifted his feet uncomfortably, scratching behind his ear. “I think not, mate. I prefer not to cross swords with your sister when there’s family china that could end up as collateral damage.”

“Don’t be an idiot, my mom knows better than to use the good china when you come over,” grinned David. “And I’m sure Emma can be persuaded to play nice for an afternoon.”

“Well, we’ll see then,” said Killian with one of the bland, conciliatory smiles he hid behind when he really didn’t want to commit to something. He shrugged into his jacket and with a small bow to David and Mary Margaret and another raised eyebrow at the tangle of limbs and smacking noises that was Regina and Robin, he was gone.

David kissed Mary Margaret’s temple and she snuggled into his side. “I wish Killian didn’t feel like he had to avoid Emma,” he said. “They may never be friends, but I’d like for them at least to be able to be in the same room together.”

“Oh, David,” sighed Mary Margaret. “You are a police detective, it’s your job to spot clues. How can you be so unobservant about your own best friend?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Killian’s got a… well, a _thing_ for Emma.”

“A _thing_?” repeated David, disbelievingly.

“Yeah. A crush, the hots, whatever you want to call it. He’s into her.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Practically since the moment they met. I can’t believe you’ve never noticed it.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Oh for goodness sake, David! He can’t keep his eyes off her! And whenever she talks to another man he clenches his jaw so hard that this little muscle in it starts to jump around.” She paused, taking a sip of David’s beer. “It’s pretty attractive, actually, in a sort of broody, Heathcliff way.”

“WHAT?”

Mary Margaret smiled sweetly and patted his hand. “There there,” she said placatingly, and kissed his cheek. “I feel for Killian though,” she continued. “He’s really very sensitive under all that swagger.” She ignored David’s snort of disbelief. “It must hurt him badly, the way she treats him.”

“Wait, are you talking about Emma and Killian?” Regina broke in.

“Yes we are, and welcome to the conversation.” Mary Margaret turned her sweet smile on her stepsister. “You’ve got lipstick on your chin,” she said. 

Regina grabbed a napkin and wiped her chin, then handed it to Robin. “On my chin as well?” he asked.

“Best just to wipe your whole face, I think,” smirked David. Regina rolled her eyes.

“Back to guyliner and the blonde—”

“Hey, that’s my sister—”

“That sounds like an 80s buddy cop show—”

“I always thought she was the one who was into him.” Regina declared, glaring at the both of them.

“Really?” Mary Margaret leaned across the table, accidentally elbowing David in her haste.

“Well, yes, isn’t it obvious?” It was never clear if Regina had to make an effort to be so condescending or if it just came naturally. Mary Margaret had learned to ignore it. “If she weren’t interested in him she’d be a lot nicer,” Regina explained. “She’s nice to men she has no interest in. Look at poor Graham.”

They all nodded in agreement. Poor Graham.

“So she pushes Killian away because she wants him so much. I mean, she’s hardly going to come on to him the way all the other women do, not Emma.”

“That’s a good point,” Mary Margaret concurred.

David was still wincing from the impact of his beloved’s sharp cubital joint on his ribs. “Hold on, let me get this straight,” he wheezed. “You think that Emma and Killian are both into each other, but they don’t know it because she’s mean to him and he avoids her?”

“That’s about the size of it, I think,” said Mary Margaret. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She and Regina locked eyes and nodded conspiratorially, and David began to panic.

“If you’re thinking that we should play matchmaker, stop thinking it,” he said firmly. “I’m not entirely sure I want Killian dating my sister.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, David, they’re perfect for each other,” said Mary Margaret, and Regina nodded. Even Robin seemed to agree. “Now, let’s talk strategy.” Mary Margaret’s voice was both exited and edged with steel. There was no stopping her now, David knew. “First, David, you have to get Killian to your mom’s tomorrow. Then we…”

***

On the other side of town, Killian, blissfully unaware of his friends’ plotting, stepped out of an Uber and closed the door carefully so as not to disturb his neighbours. They already disapproved of him more than enough. “Thanks, mate,” he said, waving to the driver. The car took off and Killian bounded up the steps to his door, eager anticipation making his hands tremble as he unlocked it. Once inside he kicked off his boots and flung his jacket on a hook without his usual attention to tidiness, then ran to his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. When he opened the door his face lit up with a bright grin.

“Took you long enough,” said the naked woman in his bed.

“Aye, I had a bit of a job to shake off the lads this evening.” He smirked suggestively at her. “They’re concerned I’m not getting enough sex.”

“Well,” she purred, eyeing him appreciatively as he shed his clothes, “We’ll have to remedy that. Did they have any suggestions?”

He crawled into the bed and pressed her back against the pillows, kissing her deeply. “They seem to think I need to get myself a brunette to come home to,” he said when they broke apart several minutes later, nuzzling her neck.

“I suppose we could always role play.” She gasped as he sucked on her pulse point, her fingertips trailing down his side, enjoying the way his muscles leapt at her touch.

“No need, love.” He pulled back and smiled into her eyes. “I have everything I could ever want right here.”

She smiled back. “Me too.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My silly two-shot has become a silly three shot. It’s so silly. Though it does get a little sad. Then ends on a very silly note.

Killian Jones knew he would never forget the day he’d met Emma Swan. It was a fixed point in his timeline, eternal and unchanging, the thing around which all else in his life revolved. 

He’d only been living in Boston for a month or so when he met her brother David through their mutual friend and his fellow expat Robin. He and Dave had hit it off immediately despite their very different personalities, and with the addition of Killian the casual duo of David and Robin had morphed into a tight threesome. 

Er… a close trio of friends. Yeah, that sounded better.  

Fast forward to several months later and a night out at their local and Killian walking through the door with a swagger and a smile for the bartender because it was Ruby tending bar that night and stopping dead in his tracks, oblivious to Ruby and to Robin waving him over and to the three-person pile-up behind him because he suddenly knew what being struck by lightning felt like.

Okay, that was hyperbole. He was certain being struck by lightning was nothing near as pleasant as seeing Emma for the first time had been. She took his breath away with her hair that seemed lit by sunlight even though it was dark outside and the lithe strength in her bare arms and and the cheeky grin she’d flashed at David just before she made an impossible bank shot and beat his arse at pool. Killian didn’t think he’d ever before laid eyes on a woman so bloody perfect. 

But then David had introduced them and he had smiled at her, and abruptly all the light had gone out of Emma Swan, and she had frozen out all his attempts at conversation and got away from him as soon as she could, and the next time he saw her she was smiling at Graham —poor lovesick bastard— and through his hurt and disappointment Killian had vowed that he would not be another Poor Graham. 

So he had flirted with Ruby and with Mary Margaret and even with Regina — _that_ had been bloody terrifying— and he had not let Emma or anyone else see how much she’d gotten to him. 

And even though he loved his new friends he’d begun to leave their gatherings early if Emma was in attendance, drinking just enough to make himself not care that he was leaving with the wrong woman, letting them all think he was a dog and a player, and he supposed he was, by purely objective standards. At what point did the cover get so deep that it became reality?  

And sometimes, on rare occasions, he drank enough to drown the hurt he felt at Emma’s very evident disdain, and David or Robin or Ruby or sometimes even Poor bloody Graham would have to carry him home, and it was all Killian could do on those nights to bite his tongue and not let spill the real reason for his behaviour.

She had no right to judge him, he wanted to protest, to someone, anyone who would listen. She barely knew him. She hadn’t taken the trouble to know him, just given him one glance and written him off. 

He knew her, though. It wasn’t hard to get David to talk about the little sister he was so proud of and Killian had shamelessly nudged and urged and dropped casual questions into enough conversations that after a year or so he felt he knew Emma as well as anyone despite their having only exchanged a handful of words, most of them vaguely hostile. 

He knew that she was tough and smart and independent, and a bit prickly at times but a deeply loyal friend. And he knew that sometime over the course of the year his initial fascination had deepened into something else, and he was beginning to worry that she had ruined him for all other women when he had never even touched her. Not so much as a brush of arms as they stood at the crowded bar. She hadn’t even shaken his hand. 

Until one evening six months ago when David was working late on a case and Mary Margaret had thirty tests to grade and Robin and Regina were away for the weekend and it was Ruby’s night off. Killian had gone to the pub in his old neighbourhood just to get out of his new house and maybe chase his errant muse, and when he’d caught sight of Emma across the room he tipped his glass in toast to her then turned his back. The last thing he needed in his current mood was to watch her flirting with someone else. 

He’d sipped in quiet contemplation until a flash of gold shone in his peripheral vision and when he turned his head she was there, determination and challenge and a hint of fear in her eyes. 

“Why don’t you like me?”

He had not expected that. “I don’t not like you.”

“You never talk to me.” 

He almost laughed. “What I think you’ll find, Swan, is that _you_ never talk to _me_.”

“You didn’t talk first.” Something in her tone hinted that she was trying to be flirtatious and suddenly he was furious. 

“I did talk to you, if you recall, the night we met,” he said, turning to face her fully and leaning in just close enough to crowd her personal space. “Or rather I tried to before I started to get fucking frostbite from your lack of response. Not talking to you since then was simply acceding to your evident desire not to be in my company because despite what you think I am a goddamn gentleman.”

“Wow,” she said. “You really do have a thing with words.” 

Killian slammed his glass on the bar and stood up. “I don’t need this tonight,” he growled and headed for the door, ignoring the “Killian, wait!” he could vaguely hear behind him.  

He was through the doors and several long strides down the sidewalk when she caught up to him. “Wait,” she cried, the light touch of her hand on his arm burning him through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” 

Anger and frustration were still seething in him and he spun around on her, pulling his arm from her grasp. “Sorry for what, Swan? For freezing me out then accusing me of not liking you? For judging me and finding me wanting before we’d even exchanged hellos? For having the audacity to call me out for not forcing my company on you when you so clearly don’t want it? Which of those things are you sorry for?”

She opened her mouth but no words came out, and he made an impatient motion with his hand. “It doesn’t matter because I do not accept your apology. Good night.” He spun on his heel and began to walk again. 

“All of it.” 

The quavering vulnerability in her voice threatened to break his heart. He turned. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry for all of those things, actually, except the last one because that was just me trying to fix things with you but I didn’t know if it was too late, and for some reason I thought I’d try flirting but obviously _that_ didn’t work, and oh, God, I’m just so fucking bad at this.” 

Her distress was real, and it softened the sharp edges of his anger. “Bad at what, love?”

“At connecting with people. You’re right, I was cold to you and I pushed you away, and I’m sorry for it. I was scared.” 

“Scared of what?” he asked, taking a small step forward. 

“Of how much I liked you,” she replied, stepping forward herself though she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Or of liking you in the wrong way, or… oh, I don’t know just call it general fear of getting close to someone.” 

“But you’re close to a number of people.” Another step. 

“It’s not the same. They don’t—” Step. Hesitant glance at his face. 

Step. Slight lean forward. “They don’t what, Emma?”

Step, closing the remaining distance between them. “They don’t make me feel like you do,” she whispered.  

They were close enough now that he could count her freckles. Killian wasn’t sure he was breathing. “And just how do I make you feel?” he croaked. 

“Like…” She finally met his eyes, and what he saw in hers made his heart soar. “Like I want to just grab you and—” and then she was surging up on her toes and her mouth was on his and his hands were in her hair and he was kissing Emma Swan in the middle of the sidewalk in front of a bar, feeling like lightning had struck twice, despite what they say. 

Then they were kissing in the back of a very smelly cab and then in his bed, and when he woke up the next morning with her head on his chest and stray strands of her hair in his mouth he knew he was fucked in at least three senses of the word. 

—

Since then he and Emma had been very careful not to be seen by their friends in each other’s company. Their friends were a pushy lot, well-meaning but overbearing, and Killian did not want them ruining the frail spring bud of his and Emma’s romance by trying to force it to blossom too fast and too soon. Emma was wary of commitment, and if he was honest so was he, and so they agreed to keep things secret until they knew what they had together. 

Which, unfortunately, meant staying away from each other in public. Killian was afraid that their friends would take one look at the looks on their faces when they looked at each other and know that they were sleeping together. He was fairly certain that whenever he looked at Emma his face still wore the same dumb, adoring grin that she’d teased him about that first morning they’d woken up together. He had just been so stupidly happy that she hadn’t snuck away in the middle of the night as he’d half expected her to that he hadn’t cared what his face looked like, and six months later Emma still teased him about it. He didn’t care about that either. The fact that she felt comfortable enough to tease him and knew him well enough to do so was a source of boundless joy to him. 

He was just so helplessly in love with her, and he was beginning to allow himself to hope that she might feel the same. 

But he still didn't trust their friends not to ruin everything. 

—

Killian was floating in the hazy state of being somewhere between asleep and awake, absently running his fingers through Emma’s hair and simply enjoying having her in his arms, her skin pressed against his and her breath soft on his neck, punctuated with a little snore that he found adorable, when from the bedside table his phone began to buzz. Hastily he grabbed for it before the insistent noise woke Emma. She did not enjoy being woken early. 

“H’lo?” he muttered into the device.  

“Killian!” It was David, using that forced jovial voice he got when he was doing something under duress. “Are you still asleep? I thought you had to get up early?” 

“Aye, just about to get up now. I, uh, still have some time to make my deadline.” 

“Your editor’s a real hard-ass, huh, giving you a deadline on a Sunday.” 

“Aye, she’s a mean one.” Killian tried to keep his voice down, but despite his efforts Emma had begun to stir. She blinked sleepily then buried her face in his shoulder with a groan. “Ugh, what time is it?” she said. 

“What was that?” asked David. “Do you have someone there?”

Killian thought fast. Emma’s voice had likely been sufficiently muffled by his shoulder that David wouldn’t recognise it, if he could just play this off…

“Aye, mate, I ran into an old friend after I left the pub, and, well, she’s not left yet.” 

“Uh huh,” said David, and Killian frowned. He could swear he heard guilt in his friend’s voice. “Well, look, I won’t keep you from your, um, _friend_ , but I’m just calling because my mom is insisting that you come to dinner tonight.” 

Emma’s face was still in Killian’s shoulder but her hand was slowly sliding down his abs and he swallowed a moan. “Mate, I’m not sure—” 

“ _Insisting_ , Killian.” The guilt in David’s voice had turned to desperation but it barely registered on Killian as Emma’s hand closed around him. “You know you can’t refuse her when she _insists_.” 

“Aye,” Killian at this point just wanted him off the phone. “Very well, I’ll be there.”

“Oh, thank God. I mean, see you there.” David hung up and Killian tossed his phone aside, growling as he rolled Emma onto her back and attacked her neck with kisses, all thoughts of the dinner at Ruth’s momentarily forgotten. 

—

David placed his phone down on the kitchen counter in front of him, and rubbed his temples. “So let me just be absolutely certain I understand this. Your plan is to matchmake them to each other by matchmaking them to other people?”

 “Oh David try to keep up,” said Mary Margaret from the dining table, where she was actually making a _chart_. “The aim of matchmaking is usually just to introduce people you think would be into each other. But Emma and Killian are already into each other, so obviously they don’t need that. What they _need_ is a kick up the backside to get them to _admit_ they’re into each other.”

“And you think pretending to hook them up with other people will accomplish that?”

“Yep. If for no other reason than that it’ll be reeeeeally annoying for them.” 

“What’s _that_ supposed to accomplish?”

“Reverse psychology,” said Mary Margaret, tapping the side of her nose. “If we obviously try to push them together they’ll just fight us, but if we push them towards other people, they’ll both be like ‘Hell no, hands off my bae.’” 

“I can’t believe you just said ‘bae.’” 

“It was appropriate to the context. Now hand me my phone, please, I’m gonna call Belle.” 

David groaned. “I feel like I’ve just invited my best friend into a lion’s den.” 

“That’s because you have, sweetie.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, the chapter count has grown yet again because I have no chill. This is the last time, I swear, and also Chapter 4 will contain the best dumb OUAT-related joke that I or anyone else has ever written. So that’s something to look forward to.

David snuck quietly into his mother’s kitchen and reached for the small cupboard above the refrigerator where he knew she kept her liquor. She didn’t know that he knew —or he didn’t think she did, but then David had never been the sort of teenager to pilfer alcohol and give the secret away via noticeable reductions in bottle volume— and he loved that she hid it in a place she needed a stool to reach but he could access easily. Sometimes it was nice that she still thought he was ten years old. He groped for a moment before withdrawing the bottle of bourbon that was the “secret” ingredient in Ruth’s apple pecan pie.  He wasn’t much of a liquor drinker as a rule, generally preferring beer or a nice brown ale. But today, he thought, he’d make an exception. 

Grabbing a glass, he poured himself a generous measure and gulped it straight down, managing not to cough too loudly as it burned a trail to his stomach. Before he could think better of it, he poured another shot and tossed that back as well —it went down easier the second time— and was just debating a third when the door opened and Mary Margaret appeared. 

“What are you— David! It’s not like you to drink whiskey!” 

Gathering his liquid courage, David turned to face her. “Sweetheart, you know I love you more than anything and normally I would never question your judgment,” he began, then took a deep breath. “But are you sure this is a good idea? I just feel like Killian and Emma should be left to make their own choices—” 

“No one is saying they can’t make their own choices.” Mary Margaret interrupted firmly. “All we’re doing is nudging them in the direction of the right ones.” 

David plunged ahead, heedless of all peril. “Are you sure that’s what we’re doing? Because it feels a lot like playing with people’s lives.” Whew. There. He’d said it. 

“If people can’t get their own act together then other people need to step in,” snapped Mary Margaret. “Do you want Emma and Killian to be miserable?”

“But they’re not miser—” 

“They will be, if they have to spend their lives alone because they’re too stubborn to see what’s in front of them.” 

“Killian’s hardly alone, I’m sure he was in bed with someone when I called him this morning—” 

“The _wrong_ someone, David!” 

David gave up. Mary Margaret in full battle mode was a force he was not equipped to reckon with. So he kissed her head, promised to be out in a minute, and surreptitiously took a generous swig straight from the bottle before returning it to its hiding spot just as the doorbell rang. 

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, and prepared to herd two people he loved into an ambush set by a third. 

—

An hour later, David was… baffled. Nothing seemed to be quite going as he had expected. Which considering he had expected disaster, was… good? 

Maybe? 

Certainly, Mary Margaret didn’t seem to feel that there was anything wrong. She had introduced Killian to Belle as per the plan, barely restraining her glee as he and the pretty brunette had struck up a lively conversation within minutes of the introduction, then had begun prodding Emma in a way that was not nearly as subtle as she probably thought.   

“I’m so glad Killian and Belle are getting along, I knew they would,” she said as she and Emma sat in a corner of the living room, watching the pair in question. “I know Killian gets around a bit but this isn’t like those women he picks up at the pub. He and Belle have actual things in common—”

“What, because he’s a writer and she’s a librarian?” Emma broke in. “There’s a lot more to Killian than just books, Mary Margaret.”

 Mary Margaret didn’t even seem to hear her. “—Killian deserves that, you know, he deserves a real relationship with someone who loves him. I think Belle could be it.”

“Do you, now?”

As far as David understood the plan (and if he was perfectly honest, he wasn’t certain he _did_ understand it), Emma was supposed to be jealous hearing that. She was supposed to realise her feelings for Killian in a blinding flash of clarity, some twisted Damascene moment, and resolve then and there not to let Belle take her man. 

Or something. 

Instead, she just looked amused. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure she’s really Killian’s type,” said Emma. She was, David noticed, holding her face very straight. _Unnaturally_ straight. It was, in fact, exactly the same face she’d worn that year she found all the Christmas presents before Ruth managed to wrap them and had held it over David’s head for _weeks_. It was the face she had when she was trying not to laugh with glee. 

“No offence, Emma, but you’re hardly the best person to judge what Killian’s type is,” said Mary Margaret.

“No, you’re probably right,” said Emma’s mouth, but her eyes glinted with mischief. “I mean, I hardly know the guy.” 

“Well, exactly.” 

Mary Margaret smiled sweetly. 

Emma smiled sweetly. 

David’s head began to hurt. There was _definitely_ something fishy going on here.

—

Things had become no less piscine by the time they made it to the dinner table. Mary Margaret managed to ensure that Killian and Belle sat next to each other with Emma across from them, and her smile as she watched Belle ask insightful questions about Killian’s latest book was decidedly smug. 

“Look at Emma,” she mouthed at David, whose angle on his sister was better than hers. “What’s her face doing?”

David watched Emma as the conversation died down while people helped themselves to food. She looked like she always did when she was about to tuck into their mom’s cooking, practically dancing with anticipation, and also… just for a moment, just the briefest flash… she smiled. At Killian. A small, secret smile, of the sort people only exchanged with those they knew intimately. Intimately in a very _specific_ way. 

David’s eyes shot to Killian. Who was smiling the exact same smile. 

 _Holy fuck,_ thought David in a blinding flash of clarity, a twisted Damascene moment. _They’re fucking._  

—

“Well, I think that went _very_ well,” said Mary Margaret, some time later after everyone else had gone and she and David were cleaning up the kitchen. 

“Mmmmm,” said David. 

“Phase Two launches next Saturday. Have you called August?”

David decided to give it one last try. “Yes, but I really think that—” 

“No, David, this will work, I’m sure of it. We’ve already made a great start.” 

David sighed. “Okay,” he said. 

—

“Phase Two” as Mary Margaret called it was scheduled to get underway as soon as both Emma and Killian arrived at the pub for their usual Saturday evening meet up. All the troops —by which term Mary Margaret meant David, Regina, and Robin— had been marshalled early, and at ten minutes before the anticipated arrivals she and Regina had their heads together at a small corner table leaving David and Robin to drink alone. 

“So I’m told Phase One was a huge success,” said Robin. 

“Hmmm.”

“You don’t agree? Regina said that Mary Margaret was ecstatic.” 

David chose his words carefully. “It pains me to say this, and if she ever found out it might _actually_ pain me, but I think Mary Margaret may be wrong.” 

“About what?” 

“I think,” David leaned in closely to be sure they weren’t overheard, even though the women were deep in conversation and paying no attention to them at all, “I think Emma and Killian are already together.” 

“What?”

“Look at the facts,” said David, and proceeded to tell his friend everything he’d observed at the dinner plus all the evidence he’d spent the past week carefully collecting. He had, he flattered himself, built a case that was meticulous and thorough. David was a good detective after all, even if his beloved did sometimes imply that he needed to be more observant in his personal life. Once he’d identified a mystery and applied his skills to it he usually solved it. This one hadn’t even been that difficult to crack. Once you actually looked at the signs, it was so obvious, like they were barely even _trying_ to be subtle. David wondered if he should be insulted that they’d put so little effort into deceiving him.

“Do you realise,” he said to Robin, “that we haven’t seen Emma and Killian together in the same room for at least six months? Every other weekend one of them has an excuse for why they can’t come out with us, while the one who does come out only stays for a few drinks then pleads some commitment or other and makes an early exit.”

“Huh,” said Robin. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I can’t remember the last time I saw them together. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re _together,_ er...together.” 

“Not by itself, no, but combined with how they acted at dinner it’s a pretty compelling case. But we need to keep a close eye on them tonight, see if we can find the smoking gun. You in?”  

“To find evidence that two of my friends are secret lovers and thereby foil the matchmaking scheme masterminded in part by my girlfriend? Hell yes I’m in.” 

Just then Emma arrived, a fashionable three minutes late. When she was followed precisely two minutes later by Killian, whose hair looked mussed and his cheeks pink, like he’d been, just as a for-instance, standing outside a pub on a brisk, breezy April evening for precisely two minutes before following his secret girlfriend inside, David’s lips curled into a grin previously only observed by those he’d interrogated and he subtly fist-bumped Robin. 

 _Gotcha,_ he thought. _You two are so busted_. 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret was saying, her face the picture of innocence as she steered her friend towards a dark-haired man sitting in a nearby booth and Regina distracted Killian. “You remember David’s old college roommate August.” 

“Um, sure,” said Emma, shaking August’s hand.

“August went to Japan not long ago,” said Mary Margaret. “Emma, you’ve always wanted to go to Japan, haven’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, I have,” said Emma on a note of surprise as her eyes flitted over to Killian. David was also surprised by this angle of attack. Didn’t Mary Margaret remember…

“Why don’t you tell Emma all about your trip?” Mary Margaret pushed Emma at the booth where August was sitting. “None of us has ever been to Japan, and—” 

“I have, actually.” 

They all turned to look at Killian, who had extracted himself from Regina and returned to the group. 

“Er, what?” Mary Margaret forced a smile. 

“I’ve been to Japan. Don’t you remember, Mary Margaret, I taught English there for a year after I finished university? I’m sure I must have told you.”

“Um, no, I don’t remember you ever saying—” Mary Margaret shot Regina a look of alarm, but her stepsister only shrugged. 

“Oh, aye, I loved it there,” said Killian cheerfully, subtly manoeuvring himself through the crowd and rearranging everyone so that when they slid into the booth Emma was across from August and he was next to her. “Some of the best food I’ve ever eaten and a fascinating culture, don’t you agree, er, August, was it? Curious name.” He barely allowed August a moment to answer before launching into a discussion ranging from the comparative merits of okonomiyaki from Osaka versus the Hiroshima version to whether it was preferable to visit Kyoto in the spring to see the cherry blossoms or the autumn to see the maple leaves, commandeering the other man’s attention completely and leaving the rest of the group gaping at them with various expressions of consternation, dismay, indignation, and amusement on their faces. 

“Of course, I was there for just over a year so I was able to do both,” he said, “but what do you think, Julian?”

“It’s August—”

“Oh, yes, of course it is, I always did get my Roman emperors mixed up.” 

“— and I was there in the summer.” 

“Strangely appropriate for a man named after a summer month,” remarked Killian with a look of such contrived innocence that David couldn’t believe Mary Margaret and Regina didn’t see what he was up to. “Well, if you ever get back…”  

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Regina hissed in Mary Margaret’s ear, just loudly enough for David to hear. 

He wanted to reply that it looked to him very much as though Killian were saving Emma from having to spend an evening feigning interest in August’s tedious travel stories —he remembered all too well the pain he himself had suffered after August spent spring break in Thailand that one year, if only he’d had a Killian of his own to rescue him back then— and enjoying the hell out of himself in the process. As for Emma, she had the Christmas present look on her face again. 

Realisation dawned. (That had been happening a lot lately.) Just then Robin returned with a round of drinks and when he’d finished handing them out to everyone David grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “They’re _playing_ us,” he said, half indignant, half impressed. ‘They know what’s going on and they’re freaking playing us.” 

“I think you’re right,” Robin replied. “They’re holding hands under the table.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“Yeah, I saw when I gave them their drinks just now.”

“God, it’s like they’re trying to get caught.” 

“Or they just have no chill.” 

“Or they think we’re too dumb to notice.” 

“Well, they might not be far wrong there,” said Robin, just as their respective partners came over to join them. Mary Margaret’s mouth was moving, but no words were coming out and Regina looked _pissed_. “How did this happen?” she asked as they approached. 

“How did you two not know that Killian lived in Japan?” retorted David “He’s got Japanese art all over his house—” 

“I thought he just liked that aesthetic—” began Mary Margaret.

“—and one of his novels was partly set there!”  

“Naturally I assumed he simply researched that book on the internet!” scoffed Regina. 

David stared at them. “His first professional writing job was a _series of travel articles about Okinawa_!”  

“Well I didn’t know that, did I?” cried Mary Margaret. “I never thought he’d actually _been_ there, I just thought—” 

“Oh, I see,” said David, understanding in yet another bright flash. “You thought he’d be jealous because August’s been where he wanted to go and would enthral Emma with stories about it, was that the plan?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Well, it’s backfired but good now, hasn’t it?” 

“No,” said Mary Margaret. “Not yet. I have one more ace up my sleeve.” 

She marched back over to the booth. “Killian,” she said sweetly, interrupting what seemed to be a rapidly heating argument over whether fugu was overpriced claptrap or a valid cultural experience that justified the price, “I was just wondering, did you call Belle yet?”

“Aye, a few days ago.” 

Mary Margaret’s eyes lit with triumph. “And?”

“And I introduced her to my friend’s cousin Will, you remember he’s here visiting for a month or two. I thought they might hit it off.”

Mary Margaret’s face fell like a deflated soufflé.

“Did they?” asked David, twisting the metaphorical knife in his dear one’s gut even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. 

“Very much so. They’re out together right now, if I’m not mistaken,” said Killian. 

Mary Margaret pulled herself together, smiled the right smile and spoke the right platitude, but when she pulled David, Regina, and Robin back into their huddle she was glowering darkly, the light of battle glinting in her eyes. 

“We’ll get them in Phase Three,” she said. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have managed to keep myself in check this time and not extend the chapter count yet again. This is it! The silly end to this very silly story. I hope it makes you guys laugh. I snort-laughed while writing it but I’m never sure if that’s because it’s funny or because I’m a dork. Anyway, massive thanks for the comments, likes, reblogs, etc, they are as always gratefully received and much appreciated 💕

The very next morning Killian was just stumbling into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and put some coffee on for Emma when Mary Margaret’s face appeared on his phone, accompanied by a buzzing that despite being his normal ringtone somehow seemed terribly foreboding. 

“Oh, what fresh hell…” he groaned, feeling very much as though he really could not be dealing with this before he’d even had his tea. Caffeine was the very least of what he would require if he were going to stand up to Mary Margaret’s next attempt to matchmake him to his own girlfriend. 

Not that he’d ever called her that before. Nerves fluttered in his belly at the thought of it. 

As much as he and Emma had enjoyed turning Mary Margaret’s plan on its head the day before, Killian found he was becoming weary of the entire situation. He didn’t want to be fending off setups as a regular thing. Or watching Emma fend them off. Or fending them off for her. 

He wanted there to be no more setups to fend off, full stop. And from the glint in Mary Margaret’s eye last night he knew that the only way to prevent them would be to come clean, to tell their friends they were together and deal with the fallout. 

He and Emma needed to talk, to figure out where they wanted to go with their relationship. If they both felt the same. 

But first they needed to strategise. There was a battle-ready Mary Margaret to deal with, after all.

Bracing himself, he picked up his phone and hit ‘answer.’ “Good morning, Mary Margaret, to what do I owe this very _early_ pleasure?” 

“Ah, Killian, I’m glad you’re awake. I hope you don’t have any plans for this afternoon.” 

“As a matter of fact, I—”

“Because I was really hoping we could have lunch together. I really need to talk to you.” 

“Oh really? What about?”

“Um, I have some wedding plans I’d like to discuss with you.” 

“You want to discuss wedding plans with me. Plans for _your_ wedding.”

“Well, yes. There’s only four months left now until the big day and as the best man you’ll naturally _want_ to be involved in the planning.” 

Oh, she was playing dirty now. 

“Aye, but I thought I’d just speak to David—” 

“Yes, yes, of course, mostly David, it’s just there are a few things I wanted to be sure we’re on the same page about, you know, before you two make any irreversible decisions.”

Killian suppressed an eye roll. 

“And _anyway,_ ” Mary Margaret continued mercilessly. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I thought we could catch up.” 

“You saw me last night!” 

“But you left so early we didn’t get a chance to talk. Come on, Killian, it’s just lunch. We’ll go to the pub, super casual.” 

Killian felt the jaws of the trap sinking into his leg but was powerless to prevent them. He may as well go and see what all this was about, he thought, it’s not like there was any real danger. He and Emma would have time to put a contingency plan in place before he left, and how much harm could Mary Margaret really do over lunch? “What time shall I be there?” he asked.

—

Arriving at the pub that afternoon he found Mary Margaret waiting for him, accompanied, he observed with a sense of weary inevitability, by a tall woman with wild, curly hair and a predatory smile that nearly rivalled Killian’s own. 

“Oh, Killian, look who I ran into!” cried Mary Margaret, the picture of innocence. “This is Milah, she teaches at the high school. It’s so fortunate we happened to be having lunch together, Milah’s been wanting to meet you for a while and I really think you two will have a lot in common.”  

“Aye, I’m sure,” said Killian, shaking Milah’s hand as her eyes boldly roamed his form, very obviously liking what she saw. Attempting to rise to the challenge he gave her the best approximation he could muster of his old, flirtatious grin. It had gone a bit rusty since he’d been with Emma. “Lovely to meet you, Milah.” 

“It’s a pleasure,” Milah purred. 

 _Danger, danger!_ Killian’s instincts were screaming. _This one means business._

Mary Margaret’s eyes were glowing with triumph, and Killian knew he’d been had. He grasped desperately for his phone. “If you would excuse me for a moment ladies, I just need to send a quick text.”

_Killian: SOS!!!_

He placed his phone on the table in what he hoped was a casual manner and turned his attention back to the women.

“Milah loves your books,” said Mary Margaret, pointedly. 

“Oh?”

“ _Love_ them,” enthused Milah, looking at him with a wide-eyed appreciation that he sensed was genuine. “I teach AP English and I used to work in a publishing house. I know good writing and yours is just _amazing_. I’ve been a fan since your travel writing days.” 

“Oh, indeed, that’s, er, very flattering.” Killian’s eyes flickered back to his phone, but it remained resolutely silent. In one slick, sweeping move he palmed it and swept it under the table, hoping he could manage to type coherently without looking. 

_Killian: Pub, now._

“Would you believe I didn’t even know you lived here?” said Milah, batting her eyelashes. “Do you think you might come speak to my class sometime, they’d be _thrilled_. Several of them are interested in writing as a career, your story could really be inspirational to them.”

Mary Margaret’s triumph was almost palpable, and Killian had to admit this was a clever move. Milah was just the sort of woman he’d have been all over a few years ago, and her blatant flattering of his vanity was softening him despite himself. Now a casual invitation to be _inspirational_ to some kids, which would mean definitely seeing her again, which could then easily turn into drinks, then dinner…

As plans went, especially plans of the sort Mary Margaret tended to conjure up, this one was _good_. And how could he _possibly_ refuse?

“Aye, lass, it would be my pleasure.” He kept the smile on his face even when Milah squeezed his hand in gratitude, even as he was typing frantically with the other one. 

_Killian: Need rescue._

“Oh, my goodness!” cried Mary Margaret, with an exaggerated glance at her watch and just an insultingly bad attempt at sounding surprised. “I can’t believe I forgot I have a dress fitting today! I’m so sorry, Killian, to invite you out and then abandon you, but let’s definitely do this another time.” 

“It’s quite all right, I can—” 

“Now, I absolutely insist that you stay and have lunch with Milah. Isn’t it lucky I ran into her! You two can talk about her students and plan your visit to them. Really, I’ll be insulted if you leave now and your lunches are on me, I’ll leave my tab open at the bar.”

“Mary Margaret, it’s truly not necess—” 

Mary Margaret skewered him with her eyes. “I _insist_ , Killian,” she said, and Killian suddenly had a new appreciation for Dave’s persistent unwillingness to cross her. 

Milah attempted a casual shrug, that was barely more convincing than Mary Margaret’s surprise. “I don’t mind,” she said. 

Killian surrendered to the inevitable. 

“Then I would be delighted,” he said, and took his phone out from under the table. If they could be shamelessly blatant in their deception then so could he. 

But where the _hell_ was Emma? 

_Killian: Help me, Obi Swan Kenobi, you’re my only hope._

That at least should get her attention. He hoped so anyway, he’d been holding on to it for a _long_ time. 

But her reply didn’t come and before he knew it he was sitting at a cosy corner table with Milah leaning in and giving him a smile with an edge that would have delighted him before he’d met Emma, and Mary Margaret was pressing menus into their hands and telling them that the tab was all taken care of and to have whatever they liked and then she was gone, and Killian was beginning to think this might actually play out exactly as she’d planned when thankfully, _finally_ his phone buzzed in his pocket and he clutched at it as a drowning man to a life raft. 

_Emma: ok ok, no need to start desecrating Star Wars with your terrible puns. I’ll be there in ten_

—

He spotted Emma immediately when she entered and with a hasty excuse to Milah about needing the restroom, he leapt to his feet and grabbed her, dragging her to a quiet corner of the pub’s outdoor beer garden. 

“Killian, what the—”

“I can’t take this anymore, love.” He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rubbed his cheek on her hair. “We have to tell them. It’s the only way to make her stop.” 

“Who?”

“Mary Margaret. She’s unrelenting.” 

Emma scowled. “Wait, did she actually try to set you up again?”

“Aye, the latest offering is in there now. No, don’t look! Don’t go, darling, just let me hold you for a minute, it gives me strength.” 

“You’re an idiot,” she said, but she squeezed him tightly around the waist and kissed his jaw. 

Killian sighed and stroked her hair. “I want to tell them,” he said after a long silence. “Not just to stop the matchmaking, but because I want them to know. I want to be able to go out with you and touch you in public, and spend quiet nights in together without having to lie about it.”

“Yeah” said Emma, and he heard relief in her voice. “I want that too.” 

Joy suffused him. He pulled back to look at her face, at her green eyes shining with an emotion that made his heart soar. “Really?” he croaked. 

She smiled, the joy in his heart reflected in her face. “Really. Definitely absolutely one hundred percent.”

Okay so maybe a run-down beer garden full of empty pint glasses and plates covered in congealed cheese (they really needed better busboys in this place, he’d mention it to Ruby the next time he saw her) outside a pub where he was probably technically on a date with another woman might not be the _best_ place imaginable to tell the love of your life how you feel about her for the very first time, but Killian could choke the words back no longer. 

“God, I love you,” he breathed.  

Her smile brightened, impossible perhaps when it had already been so bright but he swore it did. “I love you t—”

“AHA!” cried a voice from the doorway, both triumphant and accusing, sending them leaping apart. “I KNEW IT!”

“Bloody hell!”

“David what the fuck?”

“I knew you two were secretly together, I _knew_ it!” David pumped his fist in the air. “I _am_ a good detective, take that Mary Margaret!”

“What?”

“You knew!”

“Eh, I’ve suspected for some time,” he lied shamelessly, triumph edging into smugness as he regarded them. “Now you’ve confirmed it. Good thing you two used the L-word, though, or I’d probably have had to punch you on principle, for banging my sister.” He clapped Killian on the back, heedless of said sister’s dark scowl.  

“Mate—” Killian began in a warning tone as Emma bristled.

“ _Banging_ me?” she hissed. 

“No, no, don’t worry, I’m not mad,” said David, and Emma’s bristle became sputtering indignation. David was too busy rubbing his hands in glee to notice. “What I am is pretty damned excited to tell Mary Margaret. Hahaha. Let’s go right now.” He turned to go, then realised they weren’t following. “Well, come on!” 

“No,” said Killian, taking Emma’s hand. “We’ll do this in our way. And right now there’s someone we need to speak to. Before we speak to Mary Margaret.” 

He disliked the idea of Milah being used as a pawn, he owed her an apology and also he had an idea of how he might make it up to her. 

“But—” sputtered David. 

“Look, why don’t you go find the great matchmaker and bring her back here in an hour or so,” said Killian. “Don’t tell her why, though. Please, David.”

David was clearly disappointed, but he was also a good friend. “Okay,” he said. “See you soon.”  

Killian looked down at Emma. “Ready, love?” he asked, and she nodded. Hand in hand they went back into the pub and over to the table where Milah was waiting. Her face lit up when she saw Killian, then fell almost comically when she saw his hand linked with Emma’s. 

“Milah,” he said, offering her an apologetic smile. “I’m terribly sorry about all of this but I suspect Mary Margaret may have... misled you somewhat. I’m sure it was completely unintentional.” No need to stitch up his friend, he thought, however much she may deserve it. “This is Emma,” he continued, easing the woman in question slightly forward. “My girlfriend.” His lips curled into a goofy grin as the word fell from them, and Emma’s cheeks flushed pink on hearing it. 

“Ah,” said Milah. 

“Aye. You see it’s all rather new between us and we didn’t want to go public until we were sure how we felt. Our friends are somewhat… enthusiastic in their involvement in each other’s lives, and we didn't want to be dealing with that kind of pressure.” 

“I do see.” Milah’s eyes twinkled, her disappointment beginning to look more like amusement, and Killian’s grin widened. He liked this woman. 

“Look, let me try to make this up to you, at least a little,” he said, pulling a small ivory card from the inside pocket of his jacket and handing it to her.

 

> _Edward Teach,_ it read
> 
> _Managing Editor_
> 
> _Jolly Roger Books, Ltd_

“My editor,” Killian explained. “He’s been personally responsible for discovering and publishing at least ten bestselling authors over the last five years. He’d make an excellent speaker for your class.” _And I suspect is very much your type_ , he thought but did not say. 

Milah smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “It really was a pleasure meeting you. You too, Emma.” She stood and gathered her bag and jacket. “And good luck. I have a feeling you might need it.”  

—

An hour later Mary Margaret stormed into the pub trailed by David, Regina, and Robin to find Emma and Killian sitting across from each other at their group’s usual booth. They were chatting companionably, a basket of onion rings on the table between them, looking for all the world like a pair of platonic friends having a friendly drink. 

“Hey there, chaps,” Killian greeted them cheerfully. “Mary Margaret, how was the dress fitting?”  

“What? Oh, yeah, great. Dress is beautiful.” She put one hand on her hip, the other one gesturing between Emma and Killian. “What the hell’s this?”

“It’s funny that I didn’t know you had a fitting,” remarked Emma, ignoring the question. “Seeing as how I’m your maid of honour and all.” 

Mary Margaret waved this away. “Yeah yeah, never mind all that, what happened with Milah? Where is she?”

“Oh, she left,” said Killian.  

 _“Left?”_  

“Yeah. I put her in touch with my editor, he’d be a much better speaker for her class and I really think they’d hit it off personally as well.” 

“Do you.” Mary Margaret’s voice dripped venom. 

“Oh, aye. They have a lot in common.” He offered her his blandest smile and casually helped himself to an onion ring. As he popped it into his mouth Mary Margaret’s eyes grew saucer-wide. 

David twitched. 

Robin winced. 

Regina actually gasped. 

Killian swallowed the savoury bite, and a gleeful grin slowly spread across Mary Margaret’s face. 

“Sooo,” she said, grabbing a chair from a nearby table, pulling it up with its back to the end of the booth and flinging her leg over it, folding her arms over the back as she sat. “How long have you two been sleeping together?”  

Emma and Killian turned to face her wearing identical expressions of astonishment. 

“What—” 

“How the hell—”

David, Robin, and Regina were chortling, elbowing each other. Robin shook David’s hand.

“Oh, come on, it’s obvious,” said Mary Margaret.  

“Mary Margaret you have spent the past two weeks trying to set us up with other people—” 

“I only did that to push you together—”

“Yes, we’re aware—”

 “—Looks like I could have saved myself the trouble.” 

“—Only you could come up with a plan that convoluted,” said Killian. “But how did you know— We didn’t do anything—” 

“You just ate one of Emma’s onion rings and you’re still alive,” Mary Margaret pointed out, preening like the detective at the end of a TV show explaining how she solved the crime. “Not only alive but unharmed. She didn’t even flinch.” Mary Margaret leaned forward on her backwards chair, stabbing the air with her finger. “Emma Swan would never let anyone take her onion ring unless it was true love,” she declared.  

“Bloody hell.” 

“Well, she’s not wrong,” conceded Emma. “David tried to take one once in high school and he’s still got the scar.” 

“Right here,” said David, displaying a gouge mark on the inside of his wrist exactly the shape and curvature of Emma’s fingernail.

Keeping his eyes on Emma, Killian took another onion ring, the biggest one in the basket, and ate it slowly. She watched him, smiling softly. “I love you babe,” she said. “You can share my onion rings any day.” 

A delighted sigh rippled through the group and Mary Margaret wiped away a tear. “I knew you two were perfect for each other,” she said. 

 


End file.
